A Likely Story: A Library Lover's Mystery

by Jenn McKinlay

  The wind rendered her umbrella useless, but she kept it in hand just the same. She crossed the street to the main park in town. She blinked the rain out of her eyes and squinted at the gazebo at the far end. She didn’t see her boy taking cover there or under any of the benches that sat at the edge of the green, offering a view of the bay and the Thumb Islands beyond.

  She felt a panicked sob well up in her chest. Heathcliff had come to her a little over a year ago during an epic nor’easter. Some horrible person had shoved him, a young puppy, into the library book drop. He could have frozen to death but, no, instead he had wagged his way into Lindsey’s life with a zest and enthusiasm for living that was unrivaled.

  His furry black face was the first one she saw in the morning, usually when she was trying to get him up and out of her bed. She still wasn’t quite sure how he managed to carve out that territory as his own, but that was his charm. He won over hearts with his bushy eyebrows, perky ears and fuzzy tail. Lindsey didn’t know anyone, barring Ms. Cole, who could resist his handsome face and happy-go-lucky personality.

  She crossed the park, feeling as if she was fighting the wind for every step. A big gust knocked her back two steps, but she redoubled her efforts, lowered her head and forged on, refusing to turn back.

  “Lindsey! Lindsey!”

  She paused. Was it wishful thinking that made her think someone was calling her? She turned in the direction of the sound. A blurry figure stood at the edge of the park, covered from head to knee in a bright yellow slicker. Lindsey narrowed her eyes. She didn’t recognize the person and was about to turn back when they started waving.

  Maybe it was someone who had seen Heathcliff. She hurried across the sodden ground. Her shoes sank into the soft soil, making the trek even more difficult. When she got close, she saw that it was Jeanette Palmer, owner of the Beachfront Bed and Breakfast.

  Jeanette was eighty-plus years old, but it didn’t show. She wore her snow-white hair in a topknot, which was covered in a clear plastic bonnet, and she had a well-muscled, petite figure that seemed to be in perpetual motion. She also had a fondness for the steamier novels that the library carried. Lindsey hoped she wasn’t being flagged down for a status update on the latest Jennifer Ashley novel.

  “Lindsey!” Jeanette grabbed her hands in hers. “I saw him. I saw Heathcliff!”

  “You did?” Lindsey was so excited she actually jumped for joy. It was a bad plan, as she landed in a puddle, soaking her shoes even more. “Where?”

  Jeanette’s face crumpled with concern. “He was in the road, and a man on a motorcycle was chasing him.”

  “What?” Lindsey cried.

  “Heathcliff barked at the motorcycle, and the motorcycle rider tried to hit him, then Heathcliff ran and barked, and the motorcyclist tried to hit him again. It was horrible. I tried to get to him, but I was too far away and couldn’t move any faster in this damn wind.” Jeanette sounded distraught, and Lindsey squeezed her hands in hers to let her know it was all right.

  “Then what happened?” Lindsey asked.

  “Oh, honey, I am so sorry,” Jeanette said.

  Lindsey felt the world go still, and her breath stalled, her blood stopped pumping and she felt her chest collapse in on itself. She couldn’t bear to hear that her baby had been hit by the motorcycle. She just couldn’t.

  “Is he . . . Is he . . . ?” She couldn’t say the words.

  “I don’t know,” Jeanette said. “I saw him lie down on the road right in front of the bike. I didn’t think he’d been hit, but now I think he must have been. Then the motorcycle driver picked him up and put him on his lap and took off.”

  “What?” Lindsey asked. She sucked in a huge gulp of air, and her heart started to pound hard, as if to make up for missed beats. She was dizzy but fought to stay in the moment. “Where did they go?”

  “I’m not sure, but it looked like they were headed toward the old marsh road,” Jeanette said.

  Lindsey didn’t pause to think about it. She squeezed Jeanette’s hands and kissed her cheek. “Thank you!”

  “Lindsey, you can’t go after them,” Jeanette cried. “You could be abducted by some sadistic biker gang and be tortured or worse!”

  Worse than torture? Lindsey didn’t think she imagined the thrilled note in Jeanette’s voice. The woman really needed to wean off of the racy reading material.

  “I’ll be careful, I promise,” she said.

  Then she took off running. The path that she and Heathcliff liked to walk ran parallel with the old marsh road, which skirted the wetlands on this side of the bay. If she was very fast, and very lucky, she might be able to catch them.

  She darted into a copse of trees. The smell of damp earth and wet leaves filled her nose, which at any other time she would have stopped to take in and savor, but not now. The bare-limbed canopy of branches overhead didn’t diminish the rain, but the thick trunks of the grove did cut the wind. She hurried, running blindly along the well-worn path, trying to keep from tripping on the uneven ground and exposed roots in her effort to catch up to her dog and whoever had taken him.

  The path led down into a small ravine. Lindsey slipped down the muddy trail and would have landed in the large puddle at the bottom if she hadn’t hooked her arm around a nearby white oak. The bark was cold and wet, but the young tree felt strong. Lindsey pulled herself upright and moved to the side of the path where the ground was higher and less wet. She picked her way along the damp leaves, trying to avoid another fall.

  Scrambling up the opposite bank proved just as tricky, and she had to shove thin branches out of her face while she pulled herself up the rocky incline. Her breath was steaming out of her lips into the cold afternoon air, which caused her lungs to burn. She paused for just a moment to catch her breath before continuing on.

  The sound of the rain hammering the ground was her only companion. She didn’t hear the rustle of critters or the chirp of birds. It seemed as if everyone had the good sense to take shelter from the storm, everyone except Heathcliff. She thought about what Jeanette had told her. She couldn’t imagine why Heathcliff had taunted the person on the motorcycle. That wasn’t like him at all.

  There was no arguing that his barking at the motorcyclist and then running away had definitely been a ploy to get the driver’s attention, but why? Why would he have run away from Charlie? Heathcliff loved Charlie, so much so that when Charlie’s band practiced in the apartment below Lindsey’s, Heathcliff liked to howl along, almost as if he considered himself their lead singer.

  What could have triggered Heathcliff to run away like that? She couldn’t imagine. And what had the motorcyclist wanted with her dog? Maybe they thought he was lost and they were going to take him to an animal shelter.

  She wondered if she should text Beth to go ahead and call the shelters if she got back to the library first. She started to reach for her phone when she heard a yip. She froze, straining her ears against the weather’s forceful presence to see if she heard it again. There was nothing. Had she imagined it?

  She moved quietly forward, almost as if she was afraid her movement might chase the sound away. There! She heard it again. It was hard to tell which direction it had come from, but she realized that she was near one of the old fishing sheds that dotted the shoreline. Could the person who took Heathcliff have taken him there? But why? Not for anything good, she was sure.

  Lindsey jogged up the path, feeling newly invigorated by the sound of her boy’s bark. She knew it was him, she just knew it. The path wound around a large section of forest and then leveled out. A dirt road crossed the path and led back into the marsh where the fishing sheds began. Lindsey turned onto the dirt road, hoping that it wasn’t just the power of wishful thinking that convinced her she’d heard that familiar bark.

  The road was wider and smoother than the path had been. She glanced over the dried grass and tall stalks of phragmites and coul
d see the roof of her house on the opposite side of the marsh. Lindsey lived on the third floor of the captain’s house, which was one in a line of old houses that had been built when Briar Creek had found its footing as a resort town in the late eighteen hundreds.

  Most of the large houses were now three-family homes with the various floors being rented out to tenants. It was a particularly lovely area, as the yards were big, the driveways were paved with crushed shells and picket fences divided the properties in a politely charming manner.

  Could Heathcliff have gotten away from the motorcyclist and headed for home? Was he barking all the way there? Was that what she had heard? He was known for grumbling under his breath when he wanted a walk, a snack or a belly scratch. For a guy who didn’t speak the language, he sure got his point across.

  Again, Lindsey felt her chest get tight, while her throat constricted and tears stung her eyes. She just didn’t think she could stand it if something bad happened to him.

  She decided to go farther down the road just to rule it out. She had only gone about one hundred yards when she saw it. Parked on the edge of the road was a big black motorcycle.

  Lindsey began to run. She yelled, “Heathcliff!” Her voice came out desperate and hysterical, not inaccurate, but not very intimidating either, so she cried out again, this time lowering her voice, “Come here, boy!”

  If the person who had taken him was about to cause her baby harm, she wanted them to know she was coming. Not only that but she wanted them to know she was not afraid to kick some biker ass either.

  When she reached the motorcycle, she put her hand on the body of the vehicle. The engine was still warm. It felt good against her chilled fingers, but she didn’t linger. It was clear that whoever rode the motorcycle had arrived recently, so they were probably nearby.

  She glanced around, trying to determine where to go. The dried reeds to the right were flattened in one section, as if someone had recently stepped on them. She forged ahead, stepping carefully into the phragmites, feeling a bit like she was stepping into a cornfield maze as the reeds closed in over her head.

  “Heathcliff!” she called.

  This time there was no mistaking the sound of a dog’s bark, and it was coming from the direction of the marsh up ahead.

  “Heathcliff!” she cried again.

  This time he answered with a frenzied bark, as if her little guy was in trouble. Lindsey broke into a run, slamming through the reeds, not caring that they yanked off her hood and snagged her hair and lashed her face. She had to get to her boy.

  She broke through the tall grass and stepped into a clearing. A short dock led to a dilapidated fishing shack made of weathered wood; well, what was left of it anyway. She assumed the past few days of rain and wind had shoved it off of its perch and dropped it into the soggy marsh. Only a few feet of the top and the roof were visible where they stuck up out of the mud. It looked like the mucky marsh was slowly sucking the shack into its mouth like a snake swallowing a rat.

  “Heathcliff!” she cried.

  A sharp bark answered from inside the shack. Lindsey hurried forward. She climbed onto the broken weathered boards that made up the haphazard dock. She slipped once, pinwheeled her arms to get her balance and then moved a little bit more carefully. Heathcliff was inside. He was safe. If she didn’t crash into the side of the structure like a rampaging elephant, he would likely remain so. She inhaled slowly through her nose and let it out.

  None of this made any sense. Why had the motorcyclist kidnapped Heathcliff? To hold him for ransom in the shack? If so, why was their bike parked back on the road? Where were they? Lindsey had no answers. She just knew her dog was in there and she would full-on brawl to get him out if she had to.

  She inched her way along the rain- and mud-slicked boards until she got to the front. The shack was small, maybe seven by seven. She hunkered down beside the opening that had probably once held a door. She peered around the edge, hoping to get a glimpse inside.

  She blinked into the gloom. It was too dark to see, but she could hear someone breathing. It was a raspy panting sound, and she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

  “Well, don’t just stand there gawking. Help me!”

  Lindsey started. She heard Heathcliff whine, and she leaned into the opening. “Why did you take Heathcliff? If you’ve harmed him . . .”

  “Heathcliff, huh? Is that because you’re a Wuthering Heights fan or because this fine young dog fits the description ‘half covered with black whiskers; the brows lowering, the eyes deep-set and singular. I remembered the eyes.’” It was a woman’s voice, low and earthy, and full of humor.

  “I am a Brontë fan, which I gather you are, too,” Lindsey said. She studied the woman. “But you didn’t answer my question.”

  “I’d say he was the one who took me. I was on my way to an appointment when he lay down in front of my motorcycle,” she said. “Darnedest thing I’ve ever seen. I had to pick him up to get him to move. I figured I’d take him with me and hope someone recognized him, as I’m not from around here. I went to turn onto the street I needed and he bolted, barking at me over his shoulder like he was demanding that I follow. I hesitated for a second, but he was clearly in distress, so I followed him and he led me here.

  “I don’t understand,” Lindsey said. She blinked into the gloom. “Why would he want to come here?”

  A pitiful mewling sound was the only answer Lindsey got before a bedraggled Heathcliff slopped his way toward her, clearly being pushed by the person inside the dark shack. Lindsey reached out to grab him, and it was then that she saw he carried a tiny gray kitten by the scruff of its neck in his mouth.

  “Oh my goodness!” she exclaimed. She took the kitten, and Heathcliff turned and darted back inside.

  “Yeah, we’ve got a whole litter in here, and your boy was determined to get them out,” the woman said. “Judging by the weather, I’d say we were just in time. I think we can get them out one at a time, but mama cat is pretty unhappy. Can you hold the kittens for me?”

  There was a yowl as if the mother in question was protesting the woman’s choice of caregiver.

  “Yeah, sure, I can do that,” Lindsey said.

  She plopped the kitten into one of her large coat pockets. Her eyes were adjusting to the gloom, and now she could just make out the woman inside. She was up to her thighs in mud and water. Her teeth were chattering despite the heavy leather jacket that she wore.

  Mother cat and kittens were on a ledge just above the waterline. Lindsey had no doubt that if the storm kept up overnight as it was predicted to do, they all would have drowned. Several boards had been used to build a makeshift ramp, and Lindsey realized the woman must have done this in order to help Heathcliff get the cats out.

  “Sort of wish I had an ‘Eat Me’ cake right about now,” the woman said. “I could rip the roof off this place and just scoop the cats out of here.”

  “Alice in Wonderland?” Lindsey asked with a laugh. “That would help you grow big enough for the moment, but you’d also need the ‘Drink Me’ potion to shrink back to your original size.”

  Heathcliff slipped and scrambled across the boards and plopped another kitten, a black-and-white one this time, into Lindsey’s hands.

  “Aw, aren’t you just the saddest-looking thing?” Lindsey asked. “What are we going to do with you?”

  “Careful,” the woman said. “‘You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed.’”

  “The Little Prince,” Lindsey identified the book quote. “Nice.”

  The woman leaned closer to the door, and Lindsey caught a glint of light on the woman’s hair, which appeared to be a big fat braid of deep purple that hung halfway down her back. Interesting. She seemed very well read for a biker.

  “Who’s your favorite author?” Lindsey asked.

  “Now that’s like asking mama c
at here who her favorite kitten is,” the woman said. “I could never choose a favorite book. There are far too many that have meant too much to me over the years.”

  “I feel the same way,” Lindsey said.

  Two more kittens were dropped into her hands. She had to double up the two smallest kittens in her oversized pocket and hope they weren’t too squeezed in there.

  “Okay, now I need to try and get mama out,” the woman said.

  Lindsey heard the mother give a plaintive yowl. Clearly, she was unhappy that her babies had been taken, and the rising water was only adding to her stress. Lindsey leaned into the shack to get a look at the situation. Her eyes had finally adjusted to the dim light, and when she saw the mama cat, it all started to make sense.

  “That’s your friend, isn’t it, boy?” she asked Heathcliff. She glanced at the woman and said, “Heathcliff might be able to help. He’s been chasing this mama cat around the marsh for months. I think he considers her his friend.”

  “That makes sense,” the woman said. “Let’s see if he can coax her out.”

  Heathcliff seemed to understand, as he jumped onto the ledge where the cat had curled up into a defensive ball. She hissed and spat and tried to swat him with her claws, but there was no heat behind the attack.

  Heathcliff patiently put his nose forward until she rubbed her face against his. Then he licked her head as if to assure her that it was going to be okay. Lindsey felt as if she were a proud mom watching her firefighter son come out of a burning building having just saved a family.

  The woman inside kept talking to the two animals in a low, soft voice that soothed. Lindsey watched as she slid off her jacket and held it open like a makeshift bag. After some adjusting of his position, Heathcliff picked up the mama by the scruff of her neck and dropped her into the jacket. Before the cat could maul her, the woman bundled her into the coat.

  “Lead on, hero,” the woman said to Heathcliff, and he climbed up the ramp and outside to stand with Lindsey. The woman handed her coat through the opening to Lindsey.